Dilemma
by CorrieEnders
Summary: Entering the minds of Peter and Carla. Two exceptionally interesting and flawed characters. it's a little experimental. Not sure whether to go on with it. If i do there will be proper interaction and dialogue. Reviews good or bad welcome.
1. Chapter 1

**Dilemma**

**Part 1**

He was happy, Jovial, boisterous even. He felt a sense of accomplishment and there was a sense of arrogance in his stride. He had no problems, no impending doom on the horizon. He felt energized. He felt free, yet somehow it was accompanied with hollowness. He knew deep down that what he felt was not reality. His mind and senses playing a cruel trick on his body, sheltering it from the harsh reality. He was drunk, though sobering quickly. Too quickly for his liking. His shield was falling, bringing him back from denial. His head was lowered, huddled into his jacket protecting himself from the brutal elements. He had walked for hours, stumbled at times with his head bowed against the bitter wind and sleet rain. He moved blindly, seeing nothing but the damp stained pavements. Yet there was purpose in his movement. His path was clear; he was being drawn back there as though guided by his now returning conscious. He remembered it all, the emotional memories, the pain they caused. Worse than any physical pain that could be inflicted upon him. He snapped suddenly form his reverie. The rain has now ceased to a light, barely viewable drizzle. He looked up suddenly, knew exactly where he was. No one who had walked them could ever forget those cobbles. He loved this street. His family were here. His business that he had worked so hard to keep afloat. Most importantly his son, who many years back he could never imagine he would love as much as he did now. Yes he loved this place. Yet he also hated it, loathed it with passion that came from deep within. So much pain and suffering. The tram crash, Nick and Leanne, burning down the flat with his son inside. Sobering thoughts if ever there were. He let out a single, hearty chuckle at the irony. He'd been gone only the weekend though it seemed longer. He'd hoped for it to be longer. He'd taken off on his drunken crusade intent on causing damage. To himself and anything that stood in his way. Though mainly to himself. He'd wanted to forget his problems. Forget everything. He internally relived his blazing row with Leanne that had caused him to storm off, bottle of vodka in hand. She was upset about fertility and her lack of it. He hadn't shared her pain, hadn't been enthused when discussing alternatives. This wasn't his only problem. There was something else eating away at him. Someone else. Add that to all the bad memories that accompanied the festive season a year prior and it was enough to force him to fall back into his old ways and befriend the bottle. He was a coward and he knew it but the drink was all he could have faith in when things became desperate. It was dark now as he peered above the old brick houses toward the skyline. The consequences of his actions hit him like punch in the gut. The dawning realization made him all too aware of his sobering countenance. He wanted a drink. He needed it. Reaching inside his coat pocket he pulled out the small bottle, a minute amount of clear liquid its remaining contents. His last bottle, his only bottle. He grasped clumsily, causing the bottle to slip from his grasp. His despairing flailing proved fruitless and the glass smattered into tiny pieces littering the pavement. He groaned and leaned forward in an awkward attempt to recover something that was now gone. In doing so, he slipped on a mixture of damp pavement and small glass particles his feet coming from under him. He sat for a while on the cold, unforgiving cobbles not feeling the urge to move or get up. Staring blankly at the broken glass shards. Mourning for that last drop of Vodka now strew across the floor. Left to his thoughts. He was a mess. He needed relief. He needed someone. He needed her. He stood up purposefully, took a last look and strode off away from the street. Again he knew exactly where he was heading.

**Part 2 **

She was perched on the sofa at her flat in a crouching position. Arms wrapped around elevated knees. Alone. Worried. Scared. Confused. Her mind in turmoil. A loud crash from outside. She shuddered. Tensed up. Took deep breaths, remembering the counselling. Her life would be like this for a long time, maybe forever. People told her she would come through it, live a normal life again. She saw no light. No Horizon. No warmth. She thought about it less now. But still too much. She hated it. Hated him. With every fibre. Hated herself. Despised this weakness. She shook her head violently and slapped at her face lightly as though all that she suffered could be simply disposed of this way. She wished she was at work. Although the factory provided as many painful reminders as the flat, she could get away from it there. She was in her element. She was great at her job and she was at ease around her workforce. She moved with great poise and confidence. During the day there, it felt like her safety bubble. Life was bearable within the confines of Underworld. The outside world was different. The poise evaporated turned to apprehension. Confidence to dread. She was comfortable around a select inner circle though she engaged in other social interaction with an underlying sense of fear and trepidation. With one exception. Someone else made her feel at ease. Secure. Safe. He made her feel that way. Thinking about him hurt too. Though a different type of pain. An aching. A longing. The thought of him tonight stung her too. Deep foreboding. Senseless worry. For Peter. She was acutely aware of his weekend absence. She'd heard the pub gossip. _Left his wife and son and gone on the rampage _they had said. She feared the outcome. He was most probably drunk. Maybe hurt. Maybe de... No. She couldn't think it. Couldn't bear to. She felt so helpless. She wrestled with her thoughts. Should she have noticed? Should she have been there? God knows he had always been there for her. Saved her. Helped her. More than he would ever know or than she could ever express. She struggled to process these thoughts. He was a wife she reminded herself. It wouldn't have been my place. He has Leanne. This last thought hurt. Drove a dagger through her heart. For she loved Peter, loved him deeply. Adored him even. She knew it to be an emotion she had never experienced before, at least not for a person. Yet it seemingly would never be. He had made that clear numerous times. A part of her yearned to move on. Yet she couldn't help it, couldn't stop it. She loved him. Simple as that. She let out a long, low sigh at this last thought. She stared at the table in front of, adorned with her designer handbag and a lipstick stained half empty cup of coffee. She could hear the rain lashing the window and the wind rattling the bins outside. She got up and went to the window. It looked wet. Cold. Dark. Part of her longed to be out there now, laid bare and being attacked by the elements. She wanted to be consumed by the allowing the numbing cold to envelope her. She turned and headed to the bedroom. She looked to close the bedroom door when the buzzer went. She reacted immediately. Jumped up startled, unsure what to do. She crept over to the phone and laid a hand on it. Before she could ponder it anymore, the picked up the receiver. Didn't speak. Just waited with baited breath. 'Carla.' She recognized the husky tones and relief filled her. She placed the receiver down and permitted him an entrance. Her could feel her heart pumping. Racing. It was him. Peter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

She was frantic. In a state of panic. Pulse racing, heart pounding. Ideas and possibilities flew around her brain, though she had no time to process them. She strode to the door, letting down the latch. Tense. Nervous. Awaiting his arrival.

He entered the flat. Wet. Cold. Shivering. Their eyes found each other immediately. One pair chestnut brown. One pair emerald green. He held her gaze. She blinked first. It hurt her to see him like this. He looked rough, a mere shadow of the man she knew. Unshaven and soaked to the bone. Wide eyed, staring up at her. Confused. Unassuming. Fearful.

"Peter, love. What have you got yourself into?"

"Carla." He uttered it softly, a look of desperation in his eyes. One single word. Said more to her than a thousand could.

"It's OK Peter. C'mon, it's all right darling. She sensed his emotion and it cut her deep. She felt his pain. Embarrassment. Uncertainty. Regret.

"Carla, I've fallen off the ..." He stopped. Regrouped. "I've started drin..."

"Shhhh!" She stopped him mid sentence, placing a finger to his lips. She took a towel and gently began to dry his hair as he huddled into her body. Her warm body. Her inviting body

"Listen. Peter, you go into the bathroom. Have a shower, a shave and sort yourself out. You can tell me all about it after." She paused before continuing. "If you want to."

He was still shivering and struggled to speak.

"Thank You" he choked, giving her a meaningful look before heading toward the bathroom.

She waited to hear the powerful water jet before sitting down. She picked up her keys, deep in thought as she began to loop the keys around her index finger. Here they were again. Drawn together. Was it luck? Coincidence. FATE. As stupid as the thought was to her, she had started to half believe it. Her mind flickered to selfish thoughts. Peter, the man she longed for was in her shower right now. The state he was in she could probably seduce him tonight. Ensnare him. Have him. The thought evaporated as quickly as it had materialized. He needed her now. She understood how he felt. The embarrassment. The disgust. The self loathing. She would offer him every bit of support he needed. Every bit of support he had given her on numerous occasions. Deep in her own thoughts, she barely noticed him reappear from the shower, clothed in an old tracksuit of Paul's that she had found and then laid out for him. As she glanced at him she saw a changed man from the one who entered her flat a short time ago. Now he looked smart, clean shaven and polished.

"I tell you what; it's all pretty fancy in there. I wasn't aware I was showering at the Hilton."

"Well you know, a girl's got to pamper herself," she replied reciprocating his jovial tone.

"Can I book a bed for the night as well?"

Silence. His awkward comment had killed the small talk. He took a seat close to her, the silence hanging over them like a dark, billowing cape. She resolved to remain silent. Let him go at his own pace. Speak only when he was ready.

"I bet everyone's talking about my disappearing act eh?" He engaged her now.

"Oh yeh, Talk of the factory you were.

"Yeh?"

"Yeh, must have been for all of 10 minutes. Until they realized I'd bought them a pack of custard creams for their tea break."

They shared a smile. She wanted to keep some humour in the conversation, to help him feel at ease. To make him comfortable. It worked. His body language became more positive, more open. He looked ready to talk properly now.

"Carla, it just all overcame me, got too much to bear. I felt trapped. Suffocated. It was all I knew to get away from it all." He paused. She remained silent. "So I ran away, hit the bottle and didn't look back."

"OK, well wha..." He interrupted. She allowed it

"I did it because I'm weak. I'm a weak man. No use to anyone. I'm pathetic. As a friend. As a dad. As a husband."

"Peter, listen to me now." She leaned over and took his hand. Cupped it inbetween hers. He was touched by this. Her kindness. Her attention. She noticed this. "Hey, look at me, you are a good man, a great man. Look at what you've done for me. I wouldn't be here without you. Her tone was serious and firm. She spoke from the heart. "And what about your Simon eh? He's a credit to you."

He muttered a response that was inaudible to her. He was struck by her comforting words.

"Hey, you know I'm right, don't you?"

"Yeh" he replied, barely more than a whisper.

"Oh, you're going to have to do better than that. C'mon now, I'm right aren't I Peter?"

"Yes Mrs Connor," he responded firmly, holding his outstretched hand to his temple in mock salute."

They laughed together for a moment, though it seemed to last much longer. As the laughter subsided, she took a moment to be serious again.

"Peter, you know I care about you, don't you? In fact I care greatly."

"Yeh, I do. Thanks. And you know that I'm here for you whenever you need me?"

A silence penetrated the room once more. They sat together. Hands entwined. Eyes unmoving, locked upon one another. Time stood still in this moment. He raised a hand to stroke her hair. Her face. They sat now in a state of trance. He leaned closer, their breath now mingling and twisting into one wispy, invisible cloud. Lips moist and parted. They could get no closer without touching.

She broke the trance, gently clasping his wrist and withdrawing from the situation. She shook her head. Softly at first. Then violently.

"Peter" she spoke softly. "You have to go and see Leanne. This can't happen. Go home, talk to her. Tell her what you told me. She will understand. You know you have to go, right? You can't stay here" She spoke quickly at the end, determined to stay strong and not change her mind.

"Yeh, I know. It just felt so rig..." He stopped himself. Composed himself. "No, you're right. I'll go. I'll go now"

He raised himself quickly,running his hands through his hair. Still unsure what had just happened and how he felt about it. About her. He opened the door and turned for one last long, lingering look before slamming it shut as he left. The sound rung out, reverberating through her eardrums. Yep, she thought to herself. Back to reality with a bang.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

**Part 1**

He stood outside the pub, lost in thought. Analysing. Deliberating. Wondering. He took a long drag on his cigarette, inhaling deeply before slowly exhaling the contents. Watching the wispy cloud spread into the clear daytime air. He was absorbed with thoughts of her. Carla. That moment they had shared the previous evening. Had almost shared. He craved to see her again. To look. To talk. To understand.

He had been home since. To his wife, his son. Yet somehow that all seemed incidental. A mere afterthought. He ran over the nucleus of the conversation in his head. Leanne had been furious upon his arrival. Missing for days. What about his son? What about their marriage? She raged about trust, commitment. About vows. About sanctity. He recalled his feelings at this point. He'd wanted her to be angry. To vent at him. To spew venomously. He half wanted her to get up and leave him. He had stayed calm. Stayed silent. Let her rant to exhaustion. He told her the truth. At least part of it. He was an alcoholic. He drank when pressure overcame him. He ran away from his problems. His demons.

His thoughts were disturbed. He greeted passing pub customers, held out pleasantries to friends and neighbours. Alone again, he took another puff on his now disappearing cigarette. He looked right. Then Left. Surveyed the street though deep brown eyes. Gaze halted momentarily on the black Mercedes parked in front of the large brick building. The factory. Her Factory.

He became pensive once more. Engrossed in memory. Leanne had softened in wake of his honesty. She had promised to stay with him. To support him. To help him. To be there beside him every step of the way, no matter what. Her reaction bemused him. Her kindness and understanding surprised him. Her support did touch him, though deep down it evoked no emotions of real strentgh.

Their yearlong marriage had been something of an unmitigated disaster. It had begun in the worst possible way and had continued in the same vein. A barrage of contrasting emotion. So many difficult hurdles and obstacles to overcome. It had left them both scarred, physically and mentally. Some of it self induced, some of it unforeseeable circumstance. He loved Leanne, he knew he did. She represented strength to him. She epitomized safety and stability. He thought of Simon, too absent in his priorities of late. Leanne was the best thing for him. Whenever he thought of his love for her, it was accompanied by a giant question mark. A question that had etched and carved it's way deep inside of his brain. Was it enough? Did he love her enough? Did he love her more? More than her? More than Carla?

The sudden thought stuck with him. Stirred him. Brought him back to reality. He stubbed the cigarette butt against the wall. Let it fall, the dying embers temporarily glowing before being extinguished. Flakes of ash sparking and dancing through the air as they fell to the floor and died. He watched the scene unfold intently. Distant. The symbolism struck a chord with him. How long could he and Carla dance around and toward each other. He held a strong bond with Carla, unbreakable even. They understood each other. Recognized the signs, the flaws in each other. But did he love her? His heart spoke to him. He thought he knew the answer but couldn't accept it. Wouldn't accept it.

He began to walk now. Around a corner. Away from the street, pace quickening. He broke out into a jog, rounding a further corner. As though trying to outrun his thoughts. To leave them behind. Sprinting by now, he halted abruptly. Perched against a wall, regaining his breath. Head in hands. Unsure. Confused. In denial? He wasn't certain of anything anymore. Clarity nowhere to be found. He had to take decisive action soon. Had to decide. What he wanted. Who he wanted

**Part 2**

She parked and sat there arms draped over the steering wheel. Confused. Perplexed. Exasperated. She drummed her fingers irritably. Eyes staring blankly downwards. Head pressed against the steering wheel.

She was outside the factory. It was early. Sun rising, birds in rhythmic song. The milkman on his rounds. Not another soul to be seen. She'd had to come in early this morning. Had to be active. She was impatient. Restless. Her sleep brief and fleeting. Interrupted. Because of Frank. And Peter.

Effective counselling had aided her. For the most part she could now black out the more vile, revolting details of that night. Only occasionally, while alone and asleep she would wake up in a cold sweat, able to recall the most repulsive, intimate actions of that monster. That rapist. Yet she still regularly suffered the memory of forensic nurses prodding and poking her naked flesh with their cold, harsh instruments. Searching, probing, and digging. For traces. For evidence. She'd retained the emotions. She felt humiliated and worthless. Degraded. Used.

She was startled by the long, loud scream of her car horn. She hadn't realized she had been softly banging her head against it. She sighed. _Deep breaths Carla_, she internally told herself. She sighed again, this time outwardly. Checked her appearance in the sun mirror and got out of the car, locking it as she went. Handbag in one hand, paperwork in the other. Heels clicked attentively as she ascended the steps. She knew this would be a long day at the office.

She was at her desk now, gently swaying back and forth in her flexible office chair. Heaps of spreadsheets and invoices scattered untidily across the desk. Full cup of coffee nearby, cold by now. It would be a few hours before the workers arrived. The rabble. The hoard. She chuckled to herself. A group of sycophants she thought. All scurrying around looking for a promotion to the office. A little harsh perhaps, but she knew what they thought of her. Conceited, loud mouthed ice queen. She let out a lengthy scream of anguish that reverberated around the compact office. She couldn't concentrate. Couldn't focus. She lay back in the chair and consciously resumed her deep contemplation.

She had avoided last night's events. She could do so no longer. She couldn't analyse it. Couldn't comprehend it. Reason, logic and explanation eluded her. All she knew for certain was that moment, that one second before she had pulled away. They were so close. She could feel the inherent bond. The entrenched connection. It was obvious he felt it too. It was a special and rare feeling, something she had never experienced before. Captivating. Magical.

She wouldn't allow herself to dwell on it. To be swept away on the basis of one moment. She had scalded herself for spurring his advances. But she knew she had done the right thing. She had never wanted it that way. Not while he was vulnerable. While his defences were weak. She wanted him whole. All or nothing. Everything he had to give.

He was an obsession. A potion. A drug. She wanted him more with each passing day. But it seemed destined to never be. She had resolved a thousand times before to move on. To let him go. To purge herself of him. Yet she never had. Never could. She knew the day would soon come when she would have to. Friendship and support was no longer a possibility. No longer enough. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, and off her face smattering onto the papers in front of her. She had to cut him out at some point. Soon. For the sake of the wellbeing. Her health. Her sanity. Her life. This fixation, this passion would destroy her eventually. Her head ached now. She massaged her temples with her fingers.

She knew what she wanted. What she needed. She just couldn't have him.

* * *

><p>This is the last chapter. Not sure at this point whether to leave it or to write it into a new, more conventional story form. Reviews and thoughts good and bad are welcome<p> 


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